


Let's Stick to Online Shopping

by ProfessorFrankly



Series: Married 00Q Adventures [2]
Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Trying to be domestic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22242538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFrankly/pseuds/ProfessorFrankly
Summary: James and Q only wanted to pick up a few groceries before heading home to cook dinner. Honestly.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Married 00Q Adventures [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601053
Comments: 9
Kudos: 178
Collections: 2019-2020 00Q Reverse Big Bang, Minions' writings





	Let's Stick to Online Shopping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oldestcharm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldestcharm/gifts).



> Inspired by art provided by the amazing OldestCharm. Many thanks for your great work!

**Title** : Let's Stick to Online Shopping

 **Written by** : ProfFrankly

 **Art** **by** : oldestcharm

 **Word Count** : 5,070

 **Summary** : James and Q only wanted to pick up a few groceries before heading home to cook dinner. Honestly.

\---

Q directed 006 to move down one corridor and turn left, avoiding the laser grid and making way for the exit at the end of that hallway.

“No hostiles indicated, 006,” Q said quietly into his mic, getting a nod of acknowledgement in return. “Out and up you go.”

He watched the security camera feed--hijacked, of course, and replaced with looped footage of the empty hall in the building’s front office--to see Alec Trevalyan make for the door to the outside and slip out.

Q double-tapped his earwig. “Package is ready for pickup.”

“Acknowledged.”

He waited, quietly sipping his Earl Grey as he counted off the thirty seconds it should take for Alec to reach his extraction team. At thirty, he heard, “Package has been delivered. ETA 4G9B.”

“Acknowledged,” Q responded, mentally translating the code to 0500 London time. He expected Alec would head for his own space after check in, and thus, he made a mental note to verify that with R.

“Well, that’s 006 headed back, then?” The deep voice of his husband, James Bond, registered as Q finished his electronic checklist, then looked over the ongoing missions list.

“Yes,” Q said absently. “Just a minute, James.”

James quirked a grin and perched a hip on the free stool next to Q’s ergonomic standing podium. “I’ll just sit and ponder the grocery list, then, shall I?”

Q rolled his eyes but didn’t pause in his keyboarding. “You do that. As I recall, you drank the last of the milk in your tea this morning.”

“Ah, well, it was going to turn anyway,” James said amiably. “I thought maybe we could stop by Tesco on the way home and get a few things. Maybe pick up a couple of steaks for dinner.”

“Hmm,” Q acknowledged. He looked at the feed for a 003 mission in Singapore, zooming in on a climb up a remote fence easily viewed from CCTV footage. The agent in question was working well with her handler, and the mission looked to be running smoothly. “We could just order in.”

James nudged his spouse. “But then I wouldn’t have the joy of squeezing melons and fondling sausage.”

Q actually pulled his hands away from the keyboard and looked at his husband incredulously. “Pardon?”

“Ah, thought that would get your attention.” James grinned at his husband. “Come on. We’ve got to get a few things anyway. Let’s do the normal spouse thing and head to the grocery store. I do believe you’re almost out of tea, and I think the world would end should that terrible event come to pass.”

Q sighed. “Right.” He turned back to his keyboard. “You know, I could order the groceries online and have them delivered to our door in time for dinner.”

“And what fun is that?” James asked. “Come on, Q. It’ll be fine. A bit of everyday engagement, get you out of the house and away from the computer. We could even bicker like an old married couple in the produce section.”

“Well,” Q snickered. “If that’s your goal, I suppose I can oblige.” A few more keystrokes, and Q relaxed and backed away. “All missions going smoothly. R is officially in charge. Let me get my coat and we can head out.”

“Let’s take the tube, too,” James said eagerly.

“Well, we’re really going all out on the normal everyday old married couple thing, aren’t we?” Q asked drolly as he picked up his coat.

“Why not?” James said, collecting his own and swirling it on with a flourish. “Nothing wrong with that.” He leaned in to Q, looking into his lovely green eyes. “Gives me a chance to spend a little time with you.”

Q placed a gentle kiss on James’ lips. “Right, then, lead the way to normality.” He gestured toward his door with a flourish.

James took Q’s hand and kissed the back of it. “You won’t regret it.”

…

“I want you to know, I do regret this, immensely,” Q said, eyeing the robbery in progress at the Tesco they’d chosen. “And normality is not only highly overrated, but immensely challenging at this point.”

James was crouched low, his Walther PPK held comfortably in one hand as he peered around a shelving unit to note the shouting from the front of the store. “Any idea when the police will be coming?”

“I don’t actually have my earwig on me at the moment, dear,” Q said. “We’re meant to be a normal married couple buying groceries, right? Didn’t think I needed it. I did call 999 though, and emergency services is enroute.”

“Lovely,” James said. “So we’ll just wait, like any other normal couple, until the police arrive and handle the situation.”

“I’m sure that will work out just fine,” Q said dryly.

“Bit loud, aren’t they?” James idly asked, listening the shouts for the back safe.

“Bit stupid, too,” Q said. “Nearly everyone is on chip-and-pin these days. We’re practically a cashless society at this point. The take can’t be enough to justify all of this.” He watched the corner mirrors as six men in black, with beanies and masks to match, filtered into the aisles of the grocery store to herd customers to the front. “Er. We’ve got company.”

“Right,” James stood and holstered his weapon, securing it in its shoulder holster and taking Q’s free hand, the other occupied with their basket. He’d just schooled his face into its customary neutral expression when one of the gunmen rounded their corner and shouted at them to head to the front of the store. “Right. No need for the fussing, mate.”

The gunman, who sported gunmetal grey eyes behind his mask, gestured with his automatic weapon. “No cheek. To the front or your boyfriend gets it.”

Q tried not to roll his eyes as James shook his head. “Husband, mate. Get it right. And yes, yes, we’re going.”

The couple allowed themselves to be herded to the front of the store, where a collection of shoppers had gathered with varied degrees of impatience and anxiety. James smirked to himself a little at the stoicness of the average Londoner confronted with an out-of-the ordinary occurrence. He noted some anxiety, but no outright fear despite the guns and the intimidating level of black attire on the gunmen.

Q, on the other hand, was busy working out the reasons behind this store being targeted. On the surface, it looked like a robbery, but not a desperate-for-cash kind of thing. He set his shopping basket on the ground (they’d only managed to pick out tea at this point anyway), and lifted his wristwatch to his lips to mouth instructions to search the property history, looking for all the world as if he were stifling a yawn.

Gunmetal Eyes came back. “Stay quiet and no one gets hurt. We get what we came for and get out. Right?”

A low murmur of general assent and “get on with it” flowed through the crowd.

Satisfied, Gunmetal Eyes continued to hold the small crowd at gunpoint, assisted by one of the other thugs, as four of his company headed to the back of the store. Q slipped behind James as people shuffled a bit, looking at his watch.

Blueprints for the store, it’s surrounding stores, and a direct passage to the Piccadilly tube line from under the main office. Interesting. Nearby? A high-end jewelry store tucked into a space behind the store. A chemists’, just down the block. Down the passage to the tube? Q looked more closely. A branching passage that led out toward Westminster.

Hmmm.

Q nudged Bond with his foot, and James looked up into green eyes that glanced at James’ watch. James caught the hint, looked at the watch, and saw the floor plans there. A passage to Westminster could very well mean something much, much larger than a robbery, and more likely to be a threat to national security.

James fanned fingers over his own watch and texted, _Subdue_?

Q pursed his lips, and tapped his own watch. _Observe and report. Opened a line to HQ._ James dipped his head slightly. He texted HQ with details he’d observed about all six gunmen, through the mirrors. He noted the two that remained with the shoppers, and the four that had all but disappeared into the back.

To that, Q added the information he’d found about the passage the men had likely taken toward Westminster, and sat back to wait. 

As the minutes dragged on, Q observed that the two men holding the shoppers hostage began to look increasingly nervous. Whatever the plan was, it was taking much longer than anticipated. Q noted sweat rolling down Gunmetal Eyes’ temple, even as he remained still. Q rolled his shoulders, and caught the eye of a pale bloke with a black mohawk and a neck tattoo, who shook his head slightly and rolled his own. Q rolled his back.

“Flirting, love?” James asked quietly, amused. 

“Nah,” Q whispered. “Just sharing the sarcasm.”

“Ah, your other main purpose in life,” James acknowledged, twinkling. He glanced over at the mohawk bloke. “Not bad.” He gave the bloke a hard glare anyway and got rolled eyes for his trouble. “Rude, too.”

“Quiet!” Gunmetal Eyes barked out. James raised his hands and mimed zipping his lip shut.

More minutes ticked away. The thugs, visibly stressed, started eyeing each other frantically. At the fifteen-minute mark, Q’s watch buzzed. _Four apprehended under Parliament._

Just these two left, then.

Q turned to James. “Darling,” he said out loud. “Must we stay here any longer? I want my tea. And some dinner.”

James schooled his face to reflect concerned husband. “It’s not up to me, poppet.”

 _Poppet?_ Q mouthed incredulously, taking note of James’ miniscule smirk and shrug. “But. I want to leeeave, duckling.”

James raised an eyebrow and glanced at his own watch, which told him he was now free to subdue. “If you insist, poppet.” He gestured to Gunmetal Eyes. “We’re leaving now,” he said briskly. “Do let us pass.”

Gunmetal Eyes stepped in close, to James’ glee. “You’re not going anywhere, _mate_.” His companion moved forward to back him up, and the crowd itself backed up a bit out of the way. Behind his back, Q caught the eye of the mohawk bloke again and gestured to him and the dozen or so people behind him to get down. Happily, they complied, which distracted the second thug enough to say, “What?”

And then James was on them. In a flash, he disarmed Gunmetal Eyes, knocked him out with an elbow, then rammed the butt of the weapon into the other thug’s face before dropping him to the ground. Even disguised in an ankle-length men’s cashmere coat in camel, the fluidity of James’ body engaged in violence made Q a little hard.

Something about pulling James’ trigger always made him a little hard.

And James knew it, too.

Still, the spy did no more than wink at his husband when he pulled zip ties out of his pocket and secured the gunmen. The mohawk bloke stood up, caught Q’s eye, and mouthed, _Nice._

Q nodded with a bit of a grin and an eyebrow lift as the police came through the doors.

…

Sorting out the mess took more time than the couple would have liked. Each gave a statement to detectives in charge of the robbery portion, and Q managed to avoid being pressed into additional service for the night by turning over the blueprints he’d found to the MI5 operative who’d accompanied the police in. The Tesco manager announced, with apologies to the shoppers, that the store had to close for the evening, and Q frowned as he looked at his lonely basket with the single box of tea before setting it down.

“We’re still going to need a few things,” he muttered.

James shrugged. “Let’s order in for tonight and make a plan for later, yeah?”

“Fine,” Q sighed, and began tapping at his watch. “Steaks?”

“Qasim’s?” James asked.

“Of course.”

“Perfect.” A few more taps. “Ready in 30.”

“Why don’t we walk this time?” James said. “We should have enough time to get there if we do.”

Q held out his hand. “Let’s.”

James took the hand, tucked it under his arm, and they ambled off in the direction of the steak place nearest their flat. 

About four blocks from the Tesco, a pair of men in dark clothes, hats pulled well down over their eyes, faded out of the shadows with guns. “Wallets, please,” the larger one said gruffly.

Q rolled his eyes. “How about no? And why are there so many people with guns in London today? I thought we were meant to have a knife problem in this city.”

James glared at the would-be robbers. “Gentlemen, I’m not in the mood. We’ve already had one armed standoff tonight.”

The pair looked at each other, then back at James, who was giving his best don’t-fuck-with-me face. “Right, then,” the gruff one said, and began to back away.

“Leave the guns,” Q said. “No sense letting you try to injure anyone else.”

“You have until I count to three,” James said. “And judging by the loose hold you have on your weapon, I can assure you I’m a better shot than you.”

The gruff one placed his gun on the ground and backed away, motioning for the other to do the same. The pair faded back into the shadows, and James looked at the guns and sighed. “And what do we do with these?”

Q was already tapping on his watch. “Operative en route to collect them from us.” He produced a pair of blue rubber gloves from his inner pocket. “Pick them up. We’ll hand them over when J gets here.”

“Who’s J?”

“One of our forensic techs.”

“Ah.” James snapped the gloves on and picked up the two, quite old, revolvers. “These look like old army issue.”

“Someone’s dad’s, likely,” Q agreed. “Likely war souvenirs, which is illegal enough, but not uncommon.”

“Eyes on target?” James asked idly.

“Yes, of course. I’m transmitting the pictures to CPS now. Looks like they’re new to the whole idea of robbery,” Q said, and sighed. “Well, fuck. One’s got a sick wife who’s terminal.”

“Trying to cash in for a last wish?” James asked as they resumed their stroll.

“Perhaps,” Q said. “Well, if they manage to get picked up without actually robbing anyone, I’d say let them go. They’ve got enough to be getting on with.”

“Right,” James said, as Qasim’s came into view and J showed up on that corner. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a soft touch, poppet?”

Q rolled his eyes. “You’re the first, duckling.”

James handed the weapons over to J, who held out an opaque evidence bag for them before nodding to his boss and heading back to MI6. “Suppose our food is ready?”

“Let’s see.”

…

Qasim’s was not being robbed, thankfully, but unexpected shouting from the back had James and Q poking their heads around into the kitchen, to find an irate-looking man weilding a chef’s knife.

“What fresh hell is this?” Q muttered to James, as the restaurant’s host, a stalwart older gentleman called William, sidled up behind them and rolled his eyes.

“That, dear fellows, is our head chef about to stroke out,” William said, resignedly. “He could have at least waited until the dinner rush was over.”

Q watched as the chef started screaming, in gutter French, insults and aspersions on the character of the sous chef, who carried on plating dover sole while the server waited a bit anxiously for the dish to be ready. 

“Does he do this often?” Q inquired quietly. 

“Not as such, no,” William said, with the ease of long experience. “But he’s overdue for a meltdown.”

“Does it always involve knives?” James asked, watching the flash of the chef’s knife in the man’s hand. “And how have we managed to miss out on this?”

“I know we function as your alternate kitchen, gentlemen, but even tonight you’ll be taking your food home,” William said dryly. “I’ve already charged your card, Quentin. And you see, there, that Antonia is boxing up your meal on her station.”  
“Ah, so she is,” Q said, listening as the gutter French ratcheted up. “James, darling, does it look like that knife is going to fly somewhere?”

James pursed his lips. “Does it usually?” 

William shook his head. “Chef has a good grip, normally, and as this happens often enough, no one’s really phased by the waving about. Kitchens are dangerous, anyway.”

There was a pause in the gutter French, and the man clearly needed to take a deep breath. He was panting, the knife now loosely held at his side. William quietly came up on that side, gently removed the knife, and steered the chef to the side table in the kitchen--a place Q and James had eaten before--for a sit down and glass of wine.

“Are we sure adding alcohol to the situation is wise?” Q asked.

Antonia stepped up to the pair and handed them a large plastic bag. “Best thing for ‘im, really. Here you go, gents. Added a bit of dessert. Just as a thanks.”

James took the bag. “Thank you, Antonia.”

“Anytime,” she said, and wandered back to her station to start the next order.

Q and James looked at each other.

“Back to our flat?” Q asked weakly.

“I do believe I’m finished with trying to be domestic for the evening,” James allowed, and took Q’s hand to lead the way home.

The short walk down two more blocks landed them in front of their secured building. Q flipped up the plate next to the door handle to lay a hand on it for a palm scan, then lowered his head for the retinal scan. He heard the lock disengage, and opened the door, James following closely behind him.

They trudged through the foyer and back to their kitchen, unloading the bag onto the island counter.

“We didn’t even get the tea,” Q said mournfully as he looked at their take-out bags.

“You know what? Go ahead and order it online and have it delivered in the morning,” James suggested. 

Q gave him a look, but obligingly pulled up an app to input a grocery order. “We could have avoided this entire episode if I’d done that in the first place.”

“Yes, but then we wouldn’t have thwarted a plot to assassinate a prominent member of parliament in their own office,” James pointed out reasonably, heading to the cupboard for plates. “Nor set a couple of would-be robbers on a better path. Nor had an opportunity to witness our favorite restaurant’s head chef have a breakdown involving a high-end chef’s knife.” 

“Fine, fine, life’s an adventure, whatever,” Q grumbled. “Anything else you want? Tea, milk, apples, bread.”

“Jammy Dodgers?” James asked hopefully. “I’ve a craving now.”

“Certainly,” Q said, and added a few more things before sending in the order. “Delivery at 9 a.m. Will you be here for it?”

“Won’t you?” James asked.

“No, I’ve got to go in and debrief 006 early,” Q reminded him.

“Ah,” James said, plating their steaks, potatoes, salad, and dessert. “Grab the wine, poppet?”

“What is up with that atrocious endearment?” Q asked as he slipped into the pantry and rooted around in the wine cellar, then pulled out a nice red. “I thought I’d hurt myself rolling my eyes.”

“Eh, it just came to me.” James set out two glasses, then held out Q’s chair for him before seating himself. The pair ate in silence for a moment. 

“Do you ever wonder if it’s a bad thing that we’re just so used to this by now? That nothing phases us?” Q asked softly, setting his fork down.

“Not really,” James said. “It’s our job. One we do well. One you do well, love.” James covered Q’s hand with his own. “I might not have made the immediate connection to something a bit more sinister than a robbery on my own. I was only thinking about groceries, and dinner, and spending time with you.”

“Sap,” Q commented with a grin.

“Your sap,” James agreed. “And don’t think I missed the fact that seeing me in action turns you on.”

“You’ve known that for ages.” Q picked up his wine glass and took a sip, licking his lips after. “I do love pulling your … trigger.”

James laughed. “That was terrible.”

“Yes, yes, it was.”

They took their plates to the kitchen when they were done eating, cleaning up the dishes companionably and bickering about whose turn it was to wash. When the last dish was dried and put away, James turned to Q and said, “How’d you like to pull my trigger, poppet?”

Q laughed delightedly and put his arms around James’ neck. “Well, I do love to see you shoot.”

“Even more terrible,” James murmured, and leaned in to kiss his spouse. The kiss spun out softly, warming Q thoroughly. He sighed a little against James’ mouth, and melted a little into the strong arms that held him.

The fine fabric of James’ shirt failed to disguise the corded muscle there, flexing as James started running his hands up and down Q’s back, making Q remember those same muscles flexed in violence to protect him.

He shivered a little at the thought, and James lifted his lips from Q’s.

“Alright?” James asked softly.

“Hmmm,” Q hummed agreement. “Never better. I just really love your arms.”

“Really?” James laughed a little. “I’d never guessed.” He flexed again, then ran his hands down Q’s back to grasp his arse, then pulled up, Q hopping a bit to alleviate the strain as he wrapped his legs around James’ waist and tightened his hold on James’ shoulders.

James drew back a little, laying more soft kisses on Q’s nose, cheekbones, and jaw. “Bedroom?”

“Definitely,” Q murmured, and let himself be carried through to the ground floor master’s suite.

James set Q back on his feet as they reached the bed, and reached for the cardigan he habitually wore, pulling it over Q’s head. Softness reigned as James tenderly stripped his husband, and allowed himself to be stripped in turn. Gentle fingers roamed over soft skin over hard muscle, adding a caress here, a soft pinch there. Q barely registered the squelch of lube as he basked in the sensations of James’ soft touches.

By the time James pressed his cock into Q’s all-too-ready arse, Q was begging under his breath. 

“There, now,” James whispered against Q’s neck. “There. I’ve got you.” He leaned up a little, drawing Q’s hips flush with his. “There.” And he began powering into Q, who could do nothing but scramble for a hold on their soft sheets as his husband dominated him.

“Love you,” James murmured, “love you so much. Just take it, love. Take it.”

Q arched into the sensations, meeting his thrusts with abandon. He’d been so worked up, watching James in action, that it didn’t take long before he was overwhelmed. Shouting, he arched his back and came, cock untouched. James slowed down, but kept moving, softly, kissing and petting him through it. “Alright?” he asked quietly.

Q nodded, then wiggled his hips. “Keep going.”

“You sure?”

“Give it to me, duckling.”

The accompanying smirk made James grin as he picked up his pace, focusing on his own pleasure as Q ran his own hands over every bit of James’ skin that he could reach, loving the feeling of being used for his husband’s gratification. He ran one finger over James’ throat as he whispered, “Love you, too, James.”

James promptly came, much to Q’s amusement. He held his husband as the man himself sort of gently fell on him, caging him in and pressing him into the mattress.

Q stroked James’ hair and kissed his temple. “That was excellent shooting,” Q said, softly. “Really. Top notch.”

“I didn’t even get to pull your trigger,” James mumbled. 

“Ah, well,” Q grimaced as James moved slightly and his cock slipped out of him. “I think we managed, anyway.”

“Indeed, we did,” James said, kissing his nose briefly and getting up to get a warm washcloth for cleanup.

They cleaned up, settling back in under their sheets after Q set his alarm for five. 

…

Turns out, the plot to assassinate an MP might have had deeper roots. Q looked over the intel that 006 brought in and frowned deeply. 

“I know that expression,” James said as he entered the office. “What’s wrong with the intel?”

“It points to something a bit more sinister than one assassination,” Q said slowly. “I was not expecting to see that from 006’s mission.”

“Nor, I imagine, were you expecting to see a correlation between our adventure yesterday and 006’s intel?” James questioned.

“No, not at all.” Q tapped a few more keys. “I think we’ve got a larger problem. I’ll need to brief M and bring in MI5.”

“Foreign interests?”  
“Yes and no,” Q said, tapping a few more keys and pulling up a map. “More like, ripples. See?” Q pointed him to gradations of colors rippling out from Crimea and the Ukraine. “Traffic out of the Ukraine. We know their system is utterly corrupt, but we can track where their assets are going. And the MP under target yesterday stand in virulent opposition to offering them aid.”

James whistled, low. “Anything out of the thugs we brought in yesterday?”

“Not yet,” Q said. “Interrogation is set to happen this morning.” He sat back. “Well, all I can do is provide the intel.”

“Think I’ll be headed east soon?”

“No, not likely,” Q said. “More likely we’ll be sending Alec back in. But at the moment, we just have to uncover what they’re up to, and that’s happening here and now on British soil. Thus, MI5.” He looked around at his husband. “And aren’t you due a conversation with M?”

James rolled his eyes. “Yes, dear.” He stood up from where he’d been leaning on Q’s high desk again. “Catch you for lunch later?”

“I’ll order in,” Q said cheekily. James laughed as he strolled away.

...

Q had nearly forgotten their would-be robbers when he got a phone call that afternoon from Scotland Yard.

“We think we’ve got the men here what tried to rob you.” The officer on the phone sounded bored and stressed at the same time, which was a true feat. “Deadly threats charges could be laid. Also, possession of firearms without a license, and the guns themselves are registered to the Royal Marines, so that’s theft, too. Blokes seem like regular guys. Tired, though.”

“I’d bet,” Q said, thinking. “Any priors at all?”

“None,” the officer confirmed. “Just tired, as I said. Maybe using some poor judgment.”

“Right.” Q pulled up the record. “They confessed?”

“They did.” The officer hesitated. “Look, I don’t think this is going to be a habit for these blokes. They came right out with it, confessed it all. Unless as the victim, you and your husband object, we’d recommend confiscation of the weapon, a fine for possession, and that be the end of it.”

Q nodded to himself. “I think we’d be alright with that. They stopped when James asked them to, put the weapons down when asked. Did they say their motive?”

“The one’s wife is dying and wants to go to Disneyland,” the officer said wryly. “Not enough cash for it. They’d psyched themselves up to do a robbery, but met you and your husband, who made a pretty strong impression, I’d say.”

“He does at that, when he wants to,” Q said. “Shame about the wife.”

“Tis.” The officer rattled some papers and cleared his throat. “I’ll let you know how it goes then.”

“Thanks.” Q hung up, and then took a sip of his Earl Grey. He rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, thinking, then sighed.

In a few minutes, he had an electronic gift card for a trip for two to Disneyland Paris, four days, expenses paid, sent directly and anonymously to the wife.

He pulled the funds out of his personal account, the one into which he put royalties for his inventions and programs, and resolved that would be the end of it.

…

Q collected 006’s equipment, exchanged pleasantries with Alec before debriefing him, and set aside time for a meeting with M about a possible mission to Ukraine. He followed up with MI5 about the MP and the attempt on his life, and set up a meeting schedule for the next day. He spotted 003’s handler for about an hour, assessing the mission and the pair’s synchronicity, which he deemed adequate. Then around 6 p.m., his husband strolled back into R & D to find Q deep in repairs to 006’s handgun.

“Ready for dinner, poppet?”

Q blinked at him owlishly. “Right, what time is it?”

“It’s going on 6,” James said. “I’m done for the day, if you are.”

Q looked at the pieces scattered across his desk. “Well, I guess I could be.” He stood and stretched, James watching with interest as the motion bared an inch of Q’s toned belly. “What’s for dinner?”

“Reservations,” James said, holding his husband’s coat out for him to put on.

“What, no grocery stop?” Q asked cheekily, sliding his arms into the lined sleeves of his own cashmere trench. “No stressed chefs with kitchen knives?”

“Can’t promise that the chef won’t be stressed, no, and I think we were domestic enough yesterday,” James said, and held out his arm. “Shall we?”

“Are we taking the tube, then?” Q asked as he took his husband’s elbow. 

“Nope, I have the car.” James guided him through the halls, where they nodded to their colleagues on their way out to the garage. “We’re going out of the city a bit.” He flipped up his keys and the quiet roar of the Aston Martin sounded as it came to a halt in front of the curb. James gestured Q into the passenger seat, then took his place as the driver, set his own key in the ignition, and flipped the visor down to check his hair. “That new place we were thinking of.”

Q grinned. “Let’s go, duckling.”

James grinned, and they bolted.

  
  



End file.
